Memories In The Sun
by S'moreo
Summary: After an unexpected bump-in with each other, Alfred and Arthur sit down to catch up on things, only for it to turn into something different. Will they be able to mend what's been broken from so long ago?
1. Not As Planned

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Hetalia, sadly. Only the plot.

This chapter was edited to make more sense. The edited part is where Francis is introduced.

**Memories In The Sun**.

Stepping out of the dull yellow taxi, Alfred's brown and worn out boots touched the ground. Shoving his hands in his bomber jacket, he let out a puffed breath of air, enjoying the chilly evening. As he stepped onto the crowded sidewalk, he breathed in deeply, giving a huge smile. The air was most certainly not the cleanest, nor did it have the nicest scent out there, but boy did it give a burst of energy. Well, to him at least.

Stepping in with the quick moving crowd, Alfred looked out in front of him, wondering where he should head to first. It had been a long time since he's visited here, so he was excited to say the least. Lost in his thoughts, he accidentally bumped into someone.

Successfully snapping out of his thoughts, he looked up, a grin plastered on his face. "Ah, sorry man, I didn-. . ." His azure eyes widened as his sentence died off on his lips. A few seconds passed by before he got over his surprise, and he grinned once more. "Arthur! Long time no see!"

Said person's eyes were just as big as Alfred's were a few moments ago. He was silent, not responding as he hadn't gotten over the shock yet. Snickering lightly, Alfred noticed that even with his eyes as wide as saucers, those hideous eyebrows still showed, and quite noticeably at that.

"W-what're you laughing at, you wanker?!" Arthur snapped out of the shock quite quickly when Alfred started snickering, and he fumed, red staining his cheeks. He hadn't seen this idiot in ages, and he bursts into laughter? The nerve of him!

Wiping tears from his eyes, Alfred smiled, holding back one last chuckle. "'S nothing, **Arty**." He grinned wider at the old nickname, remembering all the bittersweet memories it carried along with it.

Judging by the look Arthur had, he was remembering as well, but his reaction was the opposite. "I thought I told you not to call me that anymore." Acid green eyes narrowed dangerously, the Briton gave off quite an intimidating look.

Alfred waved his hand around, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah." He looked back, a sly smile splayed out on his lips. "_Iggy._" At this, Arthur snapped and he smacked Alfred over the head, firing off insults at rapid speeds.

The blue eyed man merely laughed, holding up his hands in slight surrender. Smirk hidden by his hands, England didn't see it coming when Alfred quickly caught his wrists, effectively stopping the attacks on his head. He flashed a winning smile to Arthur. Right then Arthur swore his heart broke a second time.

Upon seeing Arthur's look of horror though, the smile was quickly replaced with a frown. "What?" He asked, confused.

Green eyes trailed down, and Alfred followed, before his mouth opened. "Oh." Letting go of Arthur's wrists, he looked away, rubbing his head sheepishly. "Sorry." He murmured. Arthur stood still and silent, before he sucked in his breath once more, yet didn't reply.

An idea flashed through Alfred's mind, and he quickly spun around to look back to Arthur, tapping his shoulder to get the man's attention once more. "Hey, how about we go to a café and catch up on the times, huh?" Arthur simply gazed at the taller man, silent, before he averted his gaze. "Bloody git."

Grabbing Arthur's mid arm, he proceeded to quick walk through the crowd, the Briton struggling to keep up and tripping over his feet a couple of times. "Alfred-! You git, slow down--!" Bumping into Alfred's back, he held his nose, glaring up at the back of the man's head for stopping so suddenly. "You bastard, what was that f-"

"We're here." Alfred interjected cheerily, and turned his head to smile at his old friend. Arthur's words died on his lips, and he pursed his lips, nodding. Fine, then. He'd get his turn to yell at the idiot later. Both entering, the bell jingled as the door opened, a cool fall breeze whipping around the entrance momentarily.

Alfred nodded his head to the third table near the window, signaling for Arthur to sit over there. Arthur frowned. "Just so you know I'm not going to drink any of that bloody 'coffee' of yours." Alfred waved his hand around, nodding. "Yeah, I know. Hot cocoa, right?" At the sign of the Briton's nod, he smiled at the cashier and told her their orders.

Feeling a short stab of pain in his chest, Arthur looked away from the scene briefly and headed over to the rounded table, taking his seat. _Quit it, Arthur._ He told himself, willing his heart to slow down. Cheeks flushed red, he tried to rid the emotions he thought he'd gotten rid of all those years ago, back when-

He grit his teeth together, and shoved the thought to the back of his mind. No, he wouldn't think of that. He had to move on, he shouldn't. . .dwell on the past. . . Eyes trailing back to Alfred, he noticed him flirting with the cashier, and the girl was flirting back, battering her eyelashes and her greedy eyes taking in all of Alfred's body like a fucking-

Looking away once more, Arthur steeled his heart and looked outside the window, taking deep breaths. _Calm down, Arthur. . ._ Just when he felt like his heart was returning back to the pace it should be, he heard the chair in front of him scoot, and he looked over to see blue eyes meeting his own.

He mentally cursed the man as his face heated up quite noticeably, heart feeling as though it would jump out of his chest any moment now. "Here ya go, Iggy." Pushing the plastic cup over to the other man, Arthur snatched the cup out of his grip and brought it to his lips to take a drink.

"Hey, Arthur, you really shoud-" "BLOODY HELL!" Slamming the cup down, Arthur covered his mouth with both of his hands, eyes tearing. Alfred grinned, laughing. "I was going to warn you Arthur. You should know by now that hot cocoa means **hot.**" Shaking around his cup of coffee, Alfred raised a blonde eyebrow. "And you said that _I_ should stop being careless."

Glaring at Alfred, Arthur stuck out his tongue to cool it off, eyes squinted shut in pain. "Shuh uh." Waving his hand over his tongue to quicken the cooling, his face slowly relaxed, and he closed his mouth, wincing a bit as his tongue felt foreign now.

"You could've warned me sooner." Alfred shrugged, and took a sip of his coffee, a look of utter delight passing through his face. "At least I tried." He responded, feeling the steaming hot coffee rush down his throat and that sweet burning feeling afterwards. Oh how he loved coffee.

"So, what's up Iggy?" Crossing his arms and leaning back on his chair, an amused smile crossed over Alfred's face. Arthur rolled his eyes. "I'm here for something important, I just can't wait to get back home. . . " Lifting the cup to his lips once more, Arthur was more careful this time and blew first before taking a long sip, savoring the warmth it spread on the chilly day.

"Oh? And what's so important?" Alfred raised both eyebrows, and Arthur noted with a sinking feeling that he had caught his attention. Bloody hell. "None of your business, that's what." Arthur evaded, refusing to answer the man's question.

"Now that's no fun." Alfred pouted, obviously displeased with the answer. "It wasn't meant to be," Arthur retorted, eye twitching. Really, the man could be such a handful sometimes. "Well the reason I invited you here was to talk! Not to be all stiff and brooding."

"I am most certainly _not_ brooding. I'm just wondering why on earth I have to be stuck with an idiot like you." Alfred laughed, and Arthur couldn't help but notice how _beautiful_ he looked at that moment. "Ouch, Arthur. That hurt." Placing a hand over his heart, Alfred winked.

Breath hitching in his throat, Arthur grew silent, the heavy feeling overcoming him once more, weighing down his heart. Oh, how he missed the little boy by his side, overcome with joy when he came to visit. The little boy who came into his room shaking at night because he was afraid. The little boy who ate his food, complimented it, and was such a sweet child. _His_ little boy.

But he was no longer his. No, he was his own now. He'd wanted to be free, and so he broke free of the weights restraining him to the ground. He grew his wings, and now he was flying. He had flown away from him, and he was never coming back.

"Alfred," Alfred murmured a small 'hm?', and after a moments hesitation, Arthur continued. "Do you, by chance, remember when you were younger and you tried to go out one night, but ended up hanging on a tree branch by your trousers?" Alfred's eyes widened, and to Arthur's amusement, flushed a light pink.

"I remember. . . Man, that was the worst wedgie ever!" Shuddering, America laughed lightly. Arthur shook his head. "I had to climb all the way up there and snip off your trousers, they were that snagged." The memory of Alfred crying, complaining about his 'pee-pee' hurting, and those innocent sky blue eyes peering up at him with big fat tears rolling down his face.

"I remember eating your food back then, too." Alfred grimaced. "I used to always have to compliment you. Ugh, man. I don't know how I ever lived without burgers!" Arthur smiled lightly, remembering the young boy compliment his food so joyously, it always brought a smile to his face. . . "Yes, you were quite the sweet child back then. . ."

Staring at Arthur, Alfred propped his chin on his palm, and lost himself in the memories, as well. Long games of tag and chasing each other around the house, eating that charred black _thing _Arthur called food, learning how to fire a musket after dreaming for so long of it. . . Memories of long hours in the field, with the sun burning down on their backs up to the point where it was uncomfortable. Laughing as if there wasn't a care in the world or a problem to deal with. That large, calloused hand reaching up to pat his sun kissed hair, emerald eyes shining with utmost care and adoration for him. For **him.**

"Alfred? What is it?" Blinking, Alfred slowly pulled out of his gaze, and realized he had been staring at Arthur the whole time. Cheeks flushing pink, he shook his head. "I sorta dazed out there," He laughed, trying to break the awkward aura, finding that it wasn't as forced as he thought it would be. Arthur looked a bit suspicious, but let it off surprisingly, and looked out the window, his mind seemingly somewhere else.

Sneaking another peek at his companion, Alfred took in all of his appearance, from his beautiful sandy blonde hair that resembled a mop to the point where it could be mistaken for one, to his great big caterpillar eyebrows which - deep down - he found just as beautiful. His heart swelled in his chest, and Alfred thought that maybe, just maybe, they could mend things, fix them. They wouldn't be quite the same, no. Nothing is the same after it's been broken and shattered. But it would be there again. They just had to take the time to pick all the pieces up and sit down to place them back together again.

"Hey, Arthur?" Peeling his gaze from the outside world, Arthur looked over to Alfred, giving him his utmost attention. _I know I hurt you. . . But I hurt myself too. _He had to do it, for his people, for himself. He couldn't be in those hands forever, the gravity constantly pulling him down to the earth. No. No, he needed to break free, extend his wings, and take flight in all confidence. Wings aren't meant for flapping uselessly against the weight of the world. No, wings were meant for _flying, __**soaring**_.

_But maybe we can let it go and move on. Maybe we can reach for not what we had back then, but something more, something different, something-_

"Arthur? I've been looking for you for an hour, where have you be-Oh! Alfred!" Arthur and Alfred snapped their heads up to the new voice. Arthur was the first to recover from the surprise, and stuttered for a moment. Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"My apologies, Francis. I had bumped into Alfred, so I must have forgotten the time. . ." Francis smiled coyly, and nodded.

"It's alright, mon cheri." Francis took a hold of Alfred's hand and kissed the fingertips, looking up at him from his eyelashes. "Bonjour, Alfred."

From the corner of his eyes, Alfred saw Arthur cross his arms and furrow his eyebrows.

Standing up straight once more, Francis straightened out his clothes once more. "Ah, mon cheri, have you told our dear Alfred yet?" France inquired.

"Told me what?" Alfred interjected, raising a blonde brow. Arthur looked away.

"Ah, I see you haven't. . ." Francis sighed. "Me and Arthur are engaged, Alfred. I'm his fiancée, you see."

Heart stopping in his chest, Alfred's mind reeled backwards. _What…Fiancée?_ He looked over to Arthur, only to see him still avoiding his eyes, flushing a deep red. Eyes trailing to the hand Arthur had on his cup, he noticed a gleaming gold ring.

_**I'm here for something important**_.

_Why didn't I notice before?_ Alfred looked back to Francis, shock evident on his face. "W-What? You two? You guys hate each other though. . ." He winced as his voice broke at the end.

"Amour is surprising, non?" Francis strode over to an empty table and grabbed a seat, sitting next to Arthur.

Alfred's chest hurt unbelievably so. Resisting the urge to clutch at it, he stood up, holding his coffee cup. "I-I have to go, duty calls for the Hero." Forcing a laugh, he noticed Francis smiled and shook his head. "Still playing the role of a 'Hero', Alfred?" Alfred had never wanted to beat someone so senseless before.

"Well, it was nice talking to you again Arthur." Looking to Arthur, his gaze lingered, hoping the man would look to him, but he kept his gaze far away. Feeling betrayed and as though a thousand needles were piercing his heart, he nodded to Francis, and pushed in his chair.

"Adieu, Alfred!" The frenchman's voice rang from the table. Just when he thought that the pain couldn't get any worse, Arthur's voice rang loud and true, the words squeezing his heart painfully to the point where he couldn't breathe. "Good-bye, Alfred."

Walking out of the café as he pushed the doors open, a strong gust of wind blew all the flowers and grass away, wilting them as they went. The sunny skies turned into dark clouds, the sweet laughter twisting into deafening thunder. Fat teardrops fell from the heavens and he felt the warmth drained from him, up to the point where he was freezing and numb. Oh, so cold. As the doors closed behind him, those memories, those wants, those _dreams_, were forever lost to him.

He supposed - he thought with a bitter laugh - they just weren't meant to be after all.


	2. Dinner From Hell

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Hetalia. Only the plot.

**_!IMPORTANT!:_** Chapter one was edited. Please go back and read Francis' introduction. It may cause some confusion if you don't.

**Memories In The Sun**,

**Chapter two**.

Though the cracks of the navy curtains, sunshine peeked its way into the little room, brightening it up almost immediately. A ray of light rested upon a certain blonde's closed eyes, and he furrowed his eyebrows, face slightly contorted into a look of confusion.

An arm slowly made its way over the man's eyes, but it was to no avail; the man had already woken from the disturbance.

"Ughh." His free hand extended, touching the edges of the table. Feeling around it, the fingers slowly found the object they were looking for, and grabbed onto it firmly, though carefully.

As he perched his glasses on his eyes, Alfred checked the clock, and noticed that he had woken up late for the third time this week. His legs found their way to the side of the couch, and Alfred used his hands to slide himself off the couch to stand up.

"It's time for lunch." He announced happily, a glint coming into his eyes.

Scratching the back of his neck as he entered his kitchen, a yawn forced its way out of the American's mouth, causing tears to come to those azure eyes. "Hmm." Leaning over from the waist down, Alfred peered into the refrigerator before he caught sight of a few familiar brown circular lumps of meat.

He quickly snatched the patties up, turning around and closing the door with the heel of his foot. "Man I love hamburgers.~" He grinned joyously at the thought of his favorite food, setting the patties down onto the counter and heading to the cabinet. Well, his favorite food next to apple pie of course.

"Buns, buns, buns. . ." Murmuring quietly to himself, Alfred rummaged through the various cereals, syrups, toppings, chips, and bread before he grabbed the hamburger buns with a soft 'aha!'. While he was at it, he took out the ketchup as well, and closed the glass door with his shoulder, a 'thunk' emitting from the sudden closure.

"Time to make burgers." He carefully slipped out his electric griddle from the shelf above, and set it down.

"I love you, baby." Alfred cooed, stroking the outside of his griddle and proceeding to cook his hamburger.

No longer than 10 minutes later, Alfred came sauntering out the kitchen with his prized burger on a plastic plate.

Plopping down on the couch once more, Alfred took a hearty bite out of his burger, making a small noise of approval. Chewing, his mind wandered off to think, and found his mind reeling and twisting to form a picture of that beautiful green-eyed, sandy haired man.

Alfred sighed, and rolled over on his couch, taking another bite out of his hamburger. It had been a week since that encounter with Arthur, and much to his annoyance he couldn't forget it. Not only was he extremely sulky, but the pain hit him just as hard as that very same day.

He frowned down at his hamburger. "Stupid Arthur, making me waste a perfectly good hamburger." He cradled it in his arms, closing his eyes. "Oh, hamburger, you know how I feel don't you?" Flopping his free hand over the side of the couch, he rested the hamburger on his chest with his hands.

Abruptly, his phone rang, and blue eyes opened lazily. Sitting up, Alfred made sure to be careful of his hamburger friend, setting it on the table. "I wonder who it is. . ." Flipping the phone over, he checked the caller I.D.

_**Caller: Arthur Kirkland**_

His stomach flipped, and his heart squeezed painfully. Even though Arthur was. . . Was with _Francis,_ those feelings that he'd kept for all these years never left. Not even when he knew perfectly well Arthur could no longer be his.

_I guess this must be close to how Arthur felt. . . Abandoned, betrayed, hurt. But never over those feelings. _Alfred frowned. It might just be just a fraction of how Arthur felt, though. He suddenly felt heavy with guilt.

Absent mindedly, he pressed the small 'talk' button, pressing the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" Even though Alfred knew perfectly well who it was, he did it out of habit, and besides, he just couldn't say that name out loud right now, just the thought of it alone made him feel all _weird._ He didn't like it one bit.

"Alfred? It's me, Arthur." The voice on the other line sounded so soft, so sweet, so _right._ The image of the man slowly whirled into mind once more, but Alfred pushed it harshly away. _Godamnit, get a hold of yourself, Alfred!_

"Ah, hey! Couldn't stay away from the Hero now that you've talked to him again, huh?" Alfred said smugly, although he was feeling anything but that on the inside. Arthur snorted on the other side of the line.

"You git. I was wondering if you'd like to head over here for a bit? Matthew and Francis will be over here as well." Arthur spoke over the line, and waited for Alfred's response.

At the mention of his brother, Alfred grinned sincerely. It had been what, two years since they've last seen each other? He couldn't wait to tease his little bro again.

Of course, though, his mood immediately soured once _that_ name was spoken. He'd taken a huge disliking to the Frenchman. Although he sometimes felt a bit guilty and knew that he was just being childish, the fact that he was Arthur's fian-fucking-cé was reason enough to dislike him.

He weighed his options careful. If he went, he would be able to see Matty again and have some fun, and he'd be able to talk to Arthur. But he'd have to endure that French bastard near Arthur. If he didn't go, well, he'd miss out on everything he'd like but also what he _didn't._

_Uhhh. I __**hate**__ thinking. _Alfred frowned. It was just so **boring **and his head hurt when he thought to much. He'd rather act than think. Really, who in their right minds would want to do that?

"Alfred, are you still there?" Arthur's voice sounded slightly concerned and worried, and Alfred blinked, snapping out of his thoughts.

"Wha-Oh. Uhhh," Alfred cursed under his breath, and nibbled his hamburger. Finally, he rolled his eyes, setting down his burger once more. "Alright, I'll go."

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow then. Head over here at 5, and I mean p.m., you idiot." Alfred swore he could see Arthur smiling, so despite himself, he smiled as well.

"Yeah, I know Iggy. Later." Ending the call, Alfred set the phone down, and all was quiet for a few moments.

Alfred sat up and finished off his hamburger, not a thought in his mind. He stood up and padded into his room quietly, picking up his hamburger plushie, Meaty-Matty - or M.M. for short. And yes, it was named after his brother. - and laying down on the bed, squirming into the covers.

"Being the Hero is awesome, but god there's so much to do." Sighing, Alfred smiled. "Sometimes I feel as if you're the only one who understands me." Alfred picked up his hamburger plushie/pillow/thing and snuggled with it, eventually fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

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_**Ring!**_

_**Ring!**_

_**Ring!**_

The covers shifted for a few moments, before they flew up, and a figure emerged, groaning.

"Uhh. . ." Still half asleep, Alfred held tightly to Meaty Matty as he exited his room, the cold tiles making him skip more than walk to the phone.

"'Ello?" Alfred slurred. He heard an exasperated sigh over the phone.

"Damn it, I just knew you'd be asleep. You should be glad I called you! You're supposed to be coming over here in two hours, so get ready and be there then. If you're not, I swear. . .!" Arthur's voice rose, his sentence hanging in a threat.

Alfred awoke fully, and he grinned even though Arthur couldn't see it.

"I would have woken up by myself! Though I appreciate you thinking of the Hero." Alfred grinned coyly.

Arthur sighed over the line, a slight crackling being heard due to the close proximity of the mouth and the air exhaling into the phone. "You bloody idiot, you're not even supposed to be sleeping at this time of day."

Pouting, Alfred shook his head, "No! I was taking a, what does Feliciano call them again?"

"Siesta?"

"Yeah! I was taking a siesta! Jeez, Arthur. Don't you know these things?"

"Sod off, Alfred. Just be here you damn wanker." With that, Arthur hung up, a click proving the fact.

Alfred placed the phone back on the table and walked into the bathroom, pulling off his shirt and pants and heading into the shower.

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As Alfred arrived at Arthur's house, he rang the doorbell, and to his amusement heard Arthur yelling through the walls.

"You bloody--Let go of me! I need to answer the door!" After a few minutes of shuffling, yelling, and crashes, a slightly disheveled Arthur opened the door, trying his best to smile despite how red his face was.

Although some people would think of Arthur's current appearance comical, Alfred thought it was absolutely beautiful.

"Hey Iggy!" Alfred exclaimed, holding up a hand in greeting.

"Hello, Alfred. Please, come in." Arthur's voice sounded a bit breathless, and albeit Alfred knew with a painful heart that Arthur was still taken, he couldn't help but imagine what else would make the Briton breathless and panting, red in the face, with those beautiful green eyes peering up at him. . .

Suddenly, out of nowhere Francis appeared, hanging his arm around Arthur's shoulders. This in turn made the Briton turn redder, and he tried to push the Frenchman away.

"F-Francis! I told you, we have guests!" Arthur shouted to no avail as the Frenchman merely nuzzled him in the neck, and _was he purring!?_

Tearing his eyes away from the scene, Alfred looked around, trying to focus his attention on anything _except_ the two in front of him. How much would they torture a man?

Lady luck pulled out for him soon, though, for he soon caught sight of a familiar blonde curl. Grinning, Alfred stepped away from the couple, much to Arthur's dismay as Francis furthered his attack.

"Hey, Mattie!" Alfred slung his arm around his brother's neck, and grinned at him. Slowly, the owner's head turned around as amethyst eyes met blue, and widened for a moment.

"E-eh? Oh, Alfred!" His younger brother blushed a bit, not having expected to be recognized so soon. Then again, it was his brother so there was no way he could be mistaken for the man in front of him. . .Especially by the man himself. That would just be mind fuck to poor Matthew.

"Long time no see, huh?" Alfred said.

"It's only been a month or two," Matthew replied.

"Yeah, like I said, long time no see!" Alfred grinned.

". . . Y-yeah. I guess." Matthew sighed. It was useless going against his brother.

"Ah, the food is ready, so let us all sit down and eat, oui?" Francis came striding in, flipping his blonde hair over his shoulder and licking his lips. Arthur followed behind, trying to fix his shirt once more and pat down his hair.

Both of the brothers looked over to the man, but Alfred more glared than looked, really. At the mention of food, however, he grimaced.

"If it's Arthur's cooking I just **know** you're trying to kill us," Alfred muttered.

The sandy haired Briton snapped, and he went to stamp over to Alfred and give him a piece of his mind. However, Francis had other plans in mind and he restrained Arthur by the waist.

Arthur blushed and turned his head to his fiancé, targeting his anger at him now. "Let me _go_, Francis! He needs to learn to appreciate that he at the very least has food on his plate!"

Francis shook his head, holding onto Arthur more. Although he was extremely useless in wars, he had a fair amount of lovers, so restraining Arthur was like child's play as Francis' arms were encircling Arthur's waist firmly.

Alfred watched with a grimace, frowning and clenching his fists for a fraction of a second, before he tried to cover it up with a cleverly disguised laugh.

Unbeknownst to him, however, Matthew had decided to look to his brother when he had let his little façade disappear. Now a bit concerned for his brother, Matthew kept glancing back, but found no signs of that moment anymore. It was if it never happened.

"Maybe I'm just going crazy," Matthew murmured. No, that wasn't it. Surely something was going on!

"Non, Arthur. You said yourself, they are our guests. And guests must be treated with utmost respect, oui?" Francis said, trying to convince the squirming and cursing man in his arms.

Arthur stopped struggling slowly, though his face was still as red as a tomato. Giving a small 'humph', he muttered under his breath.

Francis sighed and let go of his lover as he calmed down.

"Now then, shall we eat?" Francis suggested, though his tone made it seem more of a command really. Not daring to object at the tone, and their hunger, the four entered the dining room table.

The table had been elegantly decorated with a traditional white cloth, and three sticks of candles were separated evenly. Platters and platters of food covered the table, all looking exquisite and expertly cooked.

Grudgingly, as Alfred sat down he couldn't bring himself to think a single insult of the food. Matthew sat down next to him after a few moments, and Arthur and Francis sat on the other side of the table, next to each other.

For a while, the clatter of plates and utensils were heard throughout the room as the four served themselves to the fine food, occasionally asking if they could pass this, or if they could pass that.

Once they all had their plates filled though, silence set in like a cloud covering the moon or the sun. Eating in this silence, things were admittedly a bit awkward.

Things got even more awkward, however, as Francis started to hit on Arthur. Arthur blushed, and tried to pry Francis away, making feeble excuses such as 'we're eating!' or 'You're going to waste the food, Francis!'

That last excuse however was completely useless as Arthur had hardly put anything on his own plate. Even being engaged to the Frenchmen could not sway him to French culture.

"You know," Francis purred, his hand trailing over Arthur's leg. In turn, Arthur shivered, turning - if possible - more red in the face, and sputtering.

Leaning in closer, Francis' breath tickled the Briton's ear softly, the heat making the ear heat up.

"The food isn't the only delicious thing I see here." Francis murmured, a coy smile coming over his face. Arthur in turn slapped the hand away.

"N-no! O-off! Not now Francis!"

On the other side of the table, Alfred was clenching and unclenching his fists, grinding his teeth. Trying his best to ignore the obvious flirting, he picked up his fork and poked at the food a bit too harshly, hearing the fork squeak against the china plate.

Matthew looked over to his brother as his head was partially lowered and slightly tilted to his brother. He opted to stay silent, though. Most likely his brother wouldn't want to be bothered by the look on his face.

Now looking back to his plate, Matthew was feeling terribly awkward. Francis had gotten out of his chair and was now straddling Arthur, a piece of bread in his lips as he offered it to Arthur. Meanwhile, Alfred was murdering his food with his knives and forks, no doubt pretending it was a certain someone else.

For once, he was glad he went unnoticed.

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"S-sorry about Francis. He's just such a perverted bastard sometimes. . ." Arthur grumbled, a bit red from embarrassment.

"It's ok," Canada murmured, holding Kumajiro tightly in his arms. He didn't mind. Well, not that much anyway.

Both looked over to Alfred, who amazingly enough had kept quiet even until now. Looking back, Alfred blinked.

"Yeah, yeah. It's ok, I guess." Alfred mumbled, still irritated. Really, here he thought he'd have a good time since Matt and Arthur were here - even with the exception of Francis - but in the end it turned out to be a disaster, with Arthur and Francis practically going at it with what they were doing.

He turned around, walking down the pathway of the house before looking over his shoulder at the two. "I'll see you later Mattie,"

Matthew nodded, waving and bidding good-bye.

Alfred looked over to Arthur, and noticed him frowning, eyebrows furrowed.

And even though Arthur looked more than a bit funny at that moment, even though his great big caterpillar eyebrows practically squashed his eyes out of view, even though he was irritated, angry, hurt, and jea-

_Noooo. I am __**not**__ jealous._ Alfred thought. It was Arthur who was jealous, surely! He was jealous of…of…of his awesome, of course!

Continuing, even though he was irritated, angry, hurt, and overall pissed the fuck off, he couldn't be mad at Arthur. So, instead of turning around and walking like he planned to, he smiled, and gave a wave. "Later, Arthur."

Considering it his award, Alfred was able to see a similar smile blossom upon Arthur's own face, eyes brightening. "Bye, Alfred." He lifted his hand, giving a feeble wave.

Alfred turned around so Arthur wouldn't see his reddened face, and walked quickly, trying to calm his heart down and get his legs to stop feeling like jelly.

Once he was out of sight however, he grinned, the image never leaving his brain.

Although that night had been possibly one of the worst he'd ever been through, Arthur still managed to make his day.


	3. Acceptance

**Memories In The Sun**,

**Chapter 3**.

The front door opened with a bang, and a loud sigh was heard. Footsteps soon followed, getting louder and louder as each second ticked by. Soon enough, a nonplussed figure entered the living room, shedding the brown bomber jacket off and slinging it on the leather couch.

Alfred had just come home from the first world meeting in a few months. At first he was eager, unable to stay still in his chair for wanting to see Iggy and share his plans and ideas with the rest of the nations again. Of course, no one would object to him though, because he was America!

He'd expected the meeting to go dandy as usual. He'd speak with a slight glint in his glasses, his eyes shining brightly, and tongue dancing and darting around as he spoke. Meanwhile, the on looking nations watched with awe in his sheer awesomeness, unable to speak or form any coherent thoughts except how _brilliant_ his plan was. And how hot he was.

Of course as always, he'd expected a certain Briton who lacked the proper intellect--which Alfred just so happened to have--to disagree, claiming that his beautiful, amazing, and over all, foolproof plan and solution would end in a disaster and was 'quite the foolish idea, really'.

Pfff, as _if_.

In fact, everything _had_ been going that way. (Well maybe the nations weren't too pleased, or happy, or in awe, or thinking anything along those lines up there.)

The only problem?

Alfred glared at his couch, Meaty Matty firmly in his arms.

Everything was going accordingly. America was speaking, Japan agreed with his ideas (Cheers to the intelligent Japanese!), and Switzerland yelled at Japan while the others conversed amongst themselves.

Alfred had looked over to Arthur, ready for the outburst of disagreement, only to see him with that French bastard once more all over him.

If looks could kill, Francis would have spontaneously combusted and Alfred's whole house would have blown up by now. Gripping Meaty Matty more tightly, he seethed inwardly.

First the café, next the dinner, and now they had to go and ruin World Meetings as well!?

_Well not Arthur. . .More Francis than anything._ Alfred thought.

Even though Arthur was with Francis, even though he didn't insult the man as much as he used to, and even though he _agreed to the proposal_, Alfred simply couldn't bring himself to hate Arthur.

Well, at least not _that_ much.

He loved Arthur, and he thought Arthur loved him back. He honest to god did. And the Hero was never wrong!

But. . . Arthur with Francis? That's like saying Arthur can cook! And that would never happen!

Except, by some reason--god knows **why**--it had happened. Well, half of it did.

_I just know the world is going to end soon,_ Alfred thought, laying down on his back and staring at the ceiling.

It just seemed as though nothing was going right for him lately. He felt a deep pang in his chest, and shifted, heart beating quicker as the memories of the two flashed in his brain repeatedly. Taunting him, teasing him, _reminding _him what _he couldn't __**never**__ have. _

Just as he was going about to seemingly break, the familiar tune of 'Love Game' came on, and Alfred quickly sat up as the images vanished, and delved in his jacket's pockets for his cell phone.

"Hello?" Alfred answered, a bit breathless. He hadn't bothered to check the I.D, and silently hoped it was Arthur.

"A-Alfred?" A voice asked. A voice too soft and innocent to be Arthur's.

"Oh. . .Hey, Matty. What's up?" Alfred smiled weakly as his heart dropped. He really wanted it to be Arthur.

Alfred heard the intake of breath over the phone.

"W-well. . . I was just wondering. . ." His brother trailed off, hesitant.

"Just spit it out, Matt," Alfred sighed, he didn't have the patience to deal with this today, as much as he loved his brother.

"S-sorry. But. . . It seemed as though. . ." Matthew struggled, before sighing himself. "Alfred, are you ok?"

A pause.

Alfred stared at the wall, his face bereft of any emotions.

_Matthew. . .knows?_

Even though the pause made it seem less convincing, Alfred laughed anyway. "Me? Of course I'm ok! What would make you think that?" Alfred exclaimed.

He gripped his pants tightly, fingernails digging into the skin underneath and making red crescent welts.

"W-Well, you seemed a bit. . .o-off. Ever since the dinner you've been acting a bit d-differently. . ." Over the phone, Matthew knew perfectly well what was going on. But first his brother had to admit it to him.

What good would it be to try and help his brother when he was so tightly curled up on himself, thinking he could push through this alone?

"Me? Off? Pshaw! You worry too much, Matt!" Alfred's laughter sounded brittle and curt, the usual warmth lacking tremendously. He winced.

On the other side of the line, Canada was quiet, unconvinced. He knew his brother was stubborn, but he needed to finally accept the fact completely.

A few more minutes rolled by, and Alfred knew his act was over. Sighing, Alfred's façade cracked, the pieces falling apart slowly.

"Fine," Alfred admitted, and Matthew couldn't help but cringe at the lack of happiness that his brother always seemed to carry around. It was unnerving.

"I'm not ok, ok?" Wincing, Alfred shook his head at himself. He was becoming a mess.

"W-why is that?" Matthew inquired, picking up Kumajirou and holding the bear in his arms.

"Matt, I know you know why. I'm not going to explain, ok?" Alfred replied, a bit annoyed.

"I can't really know if I'm right if you don't tell me." Oh, he knew. He knew perfectly well. But as he said before, his brother needed to accept it completely. He was never going to get through this if he couldn't say it out loud.

Silence.

"Matt, you bastard." Alfred finally replied, his nails digging deeper. Clots of blood slowly welled up from underneath, and Alfred watched as the blood slowly seeped into and stained his pants.

"Fine! Arthur and Francis, the newest couple in town, soon to be married so they could spend their whole lives together! And then, I get to see them act all lovey-dovey towards each other, while this pain ripping at my heart. THAT'S why Matt." Alfred panted a bit, and--even though he denied it--he felt the weight on his heart slowly ease up a bit.

"So. . . How do you feel about that?"

Alfred snorted. "Matt, you're fucking kidding me right? You're not going to be like one of those psychiatrists are you?"

Despite Alfred's colorful vocabulary and rudeness, Matthew smiled. That was more like the brother he knew. "No, really. How do you feel about that?"

Rolling his eyes, Alfred shifted in the couch again so that one arm was pillowing his head and the other had a firm grasp on his cell. "Like how anyone would feel when the person they love leaves them for something else. Hurt, betrayed, alone."

"Maybe how Arthur felt when you left him?"

". . .That was for a completely different reason, Matt." Alfred's voice was sharp and icy. He had no choice in that matter. It was either being trapped in that cage and ruled around, or being free. Who in their right mind wouldn't pick the latter?

The Revolutionary War was a difficult time. Things changed, people died, great hero's and people were known and born. He earned freedom in the end. But he lost someone just as important.

"They're not as different as you think them to be, Alfred."

"Oh, I'm sure they are."

Neither Alfred nor Matthew continued, so all was silent for a few moments before Alfred spoke up once more, speaking the question that was on his mind for so long.

"Why did they get together in the first place anyway?"

Matthew blinked. He hadn't been expecting that question. "I. . .don't know. . ." Frowning ever so slightly, Matthew continued. "They wouldn't tell me."

"Huh, that's weird. . ." Alfred murmured. Why wouldn't they tell Matt? It was pretty weird. . .

"S-sorry, I have to go." Matthew's voice rang out, cutting Alfred's thoughts short.

"Huh? Oh, uh, ok." Chewing the inside of his mouth, a few seconds ticked by before Alfred sighed. "Wait! Matt!"

"Yeah?"

Alfred hesitated, before he swallowed his pride and forced the words out his mouth, strained but truthful. ". . .Thanks."

Matthew smiled over the phone. "You're welcome. Bye."

"Yeah, bye. . ."

Snapping his cell phone shut after the beep resounded, he went to stuff it in his jacket pocket once more. Now that he thought about it, his heart did feel a bit lighter. . . He cracked a smile. He was so awesome he couldn't resist himself!

A ring made him look to his cell phone, and he raised an eyebrow.

_**One new text.**_

_Huh._ Thought Alfred, opening his phone and checking the text. This time, both of his eyebrows shot up. He double checked just in case his eyes were playing tricks on him, but found that the text was the same as the first time.

-_Alfred,_

_Be ready by 4 p.m. tomorrow, mon cheri._

_-Francis._

Snorting to himself, Alfred didn't reply to the text and turned his phone off, placing it on the table. He didn't feel like getting up right now, so punching the pillow a few good times to make it nice and comfortable, he flipped the light switch off enveloping the room in completely darkness.

He closed his eyes, feeling his mind starting to slip into a dream. But not before he thought one last thing.

_How the fuck did Francis get my number?_

Meanwhile, Matthew scratched Kumajirou's head silently. His brother always tried to act like a hero, but when will he learn that heroes didn't have to go through everything alone?


	4. Remind Me Again?

**Disclaimer****:** I do not own Hetalia. Just this plot.

I am so sorry for the wait! I've been having a few problems and the motivation to do _anything_ just got up and left me. I'm truly sorry! The next chapter should be out shortly!

**Memories In The Sun**,

**Chapter 4**.

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

Alfred groaned, rolling over onto his stomach. He kicked the covers off of him with his feet, and used his elbows to prop himself up.

_Damn alarm clock. . ._ Alfred thought, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He would've gladly thrown the thing out had it not been in his room at the current moment.

Instead, he simply reached and grabbed his glasses off of the table, placing it over his eyes. Although he didn't really need the glasses to see, he couldn't just forget Texas.

Stretching, a few good healthy pops were heard and he cracked his neck, noting that the alarm clock had stopped ringing. _Finally._

"Well," He sighed, speaking to himself. "I guess I better take a shower."

And so he slowly lifted himself off of the comfort of his couch, walking barefoot to the bathroom to take a shower.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Half an hour later, Alfred walked into his room with an American flag towel wrapped firmly around his waist. Opening his closet, he picked out his Cowhorn Trail shirt and slightly destroyed navy jeans.

It was when he had his hair back to its normal state and socks on, that the doorbell rang. Alfred lifted his head from putting on his brown Milwaukee boot, before he pushed himself off the couch with his legs and hopped to the door, managing to fit the boot in.

He swung the door open and saw Francis. Francis gave a smile, and placed his hand over his heart, one eye closing in a wink. "Bonjour, Alfred."

Alfred merely stared at Francis with distaste, before shaking his head and locking his door behind him. "Hey, France."

"Ah? Please, call me 'Francis'." Francis said, ignoring Alfred's blunt rudeness. He strode over to the car and unlocked it, holding the door open for Alfred. "After you, mon cheri."

"I'm not a girl, _**Francis.**_" Alfred spat the word out with venom, but got inside the car anyway.

"Oui oui. Still, it is polite to the guest. I did not mean it in an offending way."

"Whatever." Alfred mumbled as Francis got into the drivers seat. He heard the rumble of the engine starting up, and then the scenery began to move. Or rather, the car did.

As a few minutes passed and they were now on a mini highway, Alfred broke the silence.

"So," He began, his chin plopped onto his palm, "How did you get my number in the first place?"

Francis laughed airily -- a laugh any girl would swoon over, and possibly a certain _Englishman_ they both knew -- but kept his eyes on the road.

"It's not that hard to hack into Arthur's phone, you know." Francis replied, looking over to Alfred and winking. Alfred scrunched up his face in disgust and looked outside the window, seeing the grass and cars pass by them quickly, but still as though it was slow motion in a sort of way.

A few more minutes passed as the awkward silence filled the car once more, save for the vroom'ing it made.

"Where are we heading to?" Alfred asked again. It wasn't as if he **wanted** to talk to Francis -- not after the current events -- but there was nothing else to do, and he _hated_ silence.

"Oh, to a restaurant," Francis said. Alfred raised an eyebrow, pulling his face away from the window.

"Are you sure it's. . . ok, for us to go there?" Alfred asked.

"Of _course_ it is, mon cheri." Francis lifted a hand from the steering wheel, and placed it over Alfred's (the one that was placed on his seat). Lifting his hand away as if burned by fire, Alfred placed it in his lap.

_What the fuck was that?!_ He wondered to himself. And although he really wanted to voice these thoughts, he kept silent.

"They better have burgers. . ." He murmured.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ok, so the restaurant didn't have hamburgers. Alfred had been a bit pissed off and shocked at that. I mean, how can they call themselves a five star restaurant if they didn't ever serve burgers!?

_But,_ Alfred remembered, a slight smirk on his face. _They __**do**__ have apple pie._ And with that, he shoveled a forkful into his mouth, feeling the taste explode onto his taste buds and the heavens sing.

Blue eyes trailing over to Francis, he saw him hitting on yet **another** waitress. Rolling his eyes, he scooped up another piece of the pie and ate it as well.

That would be. . .the fifth waitress he's hit on. In the past half hour. For the total amount, he had hit on about nine. Nine waitresses, three waiters, and two posters.

Don't ask.

As Francis continued hitting on the waitress, Alfred grew more and more aggravated and annoyed. Wasn't Francis supposed to be Arthur's fiancé for Pete's sake?! He knew Francis flirted with anyone and anything a lot, even when he was in relationships. But he was going to get **married.** Alfred just thought that Francis might takes things a bit more, he didn't know, _seriously_?

Even though he had just in fact admitted to himself that Francis and Arthur -- _Francis and __**Arthur **_-- were getting married, he couldn't possibly get any madder than he was at the moment. With that, Alfred decided to voice his thoughts.

"Francis, I honestly think--excuse me, _know_--you shouldn't be flirting with other girls, guys, and inanimate objects.

_Does the last one even count?_ He thought to himself skeptically. Oh well, it doesn't matter.

"You're getting **married**, godamnit! You should show a bit more respect and responsibility for once! I mean I know you're a pervert, but this is just going too far!" Alfred whispered in a strained voice. He didn't want other to hear, but he felt a few gazes on them.

Of course, Alfred fumed even more when he noticed Francis whispering into the ears of the waitress--and was that an invitation he heard from him!?

"Francis! Are you listening to me!?" Alfred finally snapped, his voice rising louder than it should have in a place like this. The people around them turned their heads to look at the pair, and the waitress skittered off, a bit shocked, flustered, and confused at the same time.

Watching her run away, Alfred didn't notice as Francis placed his hand over his own once more. Of course, once he felt those smooth, peachy fingers wrap around his palm, he snatched his hand away.

Francis held a finger to his finger, making a slight shushing sound. Then, he spoke. Silently, delicately, smoothly. With all the dignity and absolute etiquette only a Frenchman could muster.

"Sshh, Alfred, amour." He shushed, the finger still pressed softly to his lips. Alfred's stomach constricted.

"What Arthur doesn't know can never hurt him, non? So, let us keep this a secret. Between two good friends."

Keeping his jaw clenched and teeth grinded together, Alfred willed his stomach to stay still so the apple pie wouldn't be on his plate once more.

He didn't answer to Francis, and honestly, he didn't want to. This was just, sick. Sick, and disgusting. Any other day, the fact that Alfred F. Jones' appetite was no more would have been a miracle, but with what just happened, it wasn't all too surprising.

All previous anger at Arthur was now gone, washed up by the new waves of anger for Francis. He could literally _hear_ the thunder as his heart pounded, a searing white hot flash of anger overcoming him. But then that was washed away as well, and a new feeling splashed over him. The ice cold water stilled his thoughts for a brief second, before it seeped into his skin and all the way to his heart.

Alfred had lost Arthur. Alfred had lost Arthur to Francis. Alfred had lost Arthur to Francis who was cheating on him. Alfred couldn't think of anything else except that despite Arthur getting engaged to Francis, despite Arthur hurting him without possibly knowing it, despite all that was happening, he didn't want this.

He didn't want Arthur to be hurt. He didn't want him to be hurt, again.

_Oh god._ Alfred thought. _What am I going to do?_

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Adieu, Alfred." Francis waved as Alfred slammed the car door shut.

Not bothering to even look back, Alfred trudged to his house and heard Francis' car pull away. Off to 'his house'. Or maybe a few waitresses.

Alfred grumbled to himself as he fished his keys out of his pockets, somehow managing to not stumble. After he successfully had the keys in his hands, he looked up at his house, and furrowed his eyebrows.

He could've sworn he left the light off. . .

Eyes as blue as the sky widened, and Alfred took off like a jet, rattling the doorknob frantically as the key was pushed in.

_Oh hell no, no one is going to steal from the Hero, from __**America!**_

_**The door burst open, and he stumbled in, grabbing the coat stand nearby him as a makeshift weapon. If he could just make it to his room to get his gun. . .**_

"_**Put that down."**_

_**Alfred's eyes darted to the voice, and dropped the coat stand as his eyes met a pair of smoldering acid green.**_

_**It was no secret that Arthur was pissed off.**_


	5. The Truth Of Lies

**Memories In The Sun**,

**Chapter 5**.

Alfred's blue eyes widened visibly, his fingers still curled up as if he were still holding the coat stand.

After the shock passed by him (well, mostly), he regained feeling of his muscles and he stood up fully, his eyes still as wide as they were moments before.

"A-Arthur?" He asked, uncertainly. Did he get the house right? He _was_ in his house, right? I mean, no way would England have the same house as him, and same lock, and all those posters of Twilight! (He didn't like it, really!)

Arthur's eyes narrowed, and those humungous eyebrows made it seem as if he had no eyes at all. And as much as the situation was weird and unnerving, Alfred's mouth twitched for a few seconds before he laughed loudly, tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

"Don't laugh, you wanker!" Arthur frowned deeper, and stood up from the couch. His eyes smoldered even more and turned a dangerous toxic green.

Alfred stopped, blinking. He never saw Arthur like this unless the man was extremely serious or extremely pissed off. Most times both.

"Arthur? What's wrong?" Alfred asked tentatively. Something wasn't right. . . Had he done something to piss Arthur off? Well he always did, but not like this. Well ok yes he did that too, but that's not the point!

"Sit down." Arthur said, and sat back down. Alfred, in an amazing display of hesitancy - and was that **fear**? Arthur thought with a bit of amusement. - walked over to the couch and took a seat, his shoulders stiff and on guard.

Arthur took a deep breath, eyebrows still furrowed as he stared ahead and off into space. Alfred shifted, a bit uncomfortable. Was Arthur alright? He was acting a bit. . . Well, weirder than normal. He poked Arthur's side, blue eyes curious.

Arthur slapped Alfred's hand away, coming back to reality. Alfred retracted his hand, shaking it in the air from the slight stinging pain from the slap.

"Right. . . I'm not going to beat around the bush so," Arthur sighed, and his mouth twitched downward at Alfred's snicker to his sentence. "Did. . . Francis do anything to you?"

Alfred blinked, his laughter dying off. Arthur knew? He was honestly surprised, and even more surprised that he was surprised.

But then he remembered how Francis had acted, and he frowned himself. Although usually couples would tell their significant other where they were going, Francis didn't really. . . Seem, to do that.

Alfred bit the inside of his mouth, not sure whether he should tell the truth or not. He loved Arthur. A lot. Which is why he was so unsure.

He didn't want to hurt Arthur, in fact, that was the last thing he wanted to do. Mentally sighing, he knew that things probably wouldn't be the same forever, but for now he could give Arthur a little bit more time. . .

"No," He lied, hoping that the silence hadn't stretched out too long. His eyes scanned Arthur's, searching for something, anything, in case he gave himself away. Arthur's jaw clenched.

"Alfred, I already **know** what he is doing. So just tell me if he bloody touched you, you eejit."

Too shocked to laugh or tease at Arthur, Alfred's jaw slowly hit the ground and his mind reeled all over the place, his thoughts scattering like a dozen birds upon the sight of danger or an oncoming car.

Despite his anger and frustration, Arthur couldn't help but smirk at the other man's reaction.

Alfred's mind finally skidded to a halt and rewound, the words repeating over and over again like a broken record tape. It wasn't until a while after that he was sure that if he spoke it would be proper words and not that of a toddler's whose teeth were only starting to grow.

That didn't mean he was hesitant though.

"N-not really. . ." Alfred finally admitted, his eyes never leaving Arthur's face. It was no use lying to Arthur now.

Arthur sighed, leaning back further into the couch and looked away to the wall, his eyes becoming slightly sad.

"I see. Not surprising. . ."

Alfred stared at Arthur, now a bit sad himself. He didn't like seeing Arthur like this; it reminded him of the past. Of _that_. But there was one question he just _had_ to ask, something he _had_ to know.

It just simply nudged and whispered to him as he stared silently, urging him on, silent but powerful. And he gave in.

"Then. . . Why are you still with him if you **know** he's doing this to you?" Alfred asks, his voice low yet heard perfectly clear. He saw Arthur grow rigid, and the face grow a bit pained.

The moments passed on, the awkward silence settling over the room heavily. Neither of the men moved, staying as still as statues. But just as Alfred began to think that the idea to ask that was a bad one, Arthur broke the silence.

"Because I love him." Arthur's voice was unsteady, and broke at the end. Green eyes shook, and he closed them momentarily, drawing a few deep breaths as if to calm himself down.

Alfred, on the other hand, felt his already broken heart get stomped on, the pieces shattering to even smaller pieces. He wondered if he could repair it at all now. He knew that their relationship wouldn't, at least. Not that _that_ helped.

"He's always with other people, smiling at them." Arthur continued, his eyes still closed. Alfred listened, although he didn't want to hear any more.

"When he looks at me, my heart races, but he'll never change." Arthur's voice was laced with regret, compassion, pain, and anger, all tied together messily yet perfectly.

"It hurts," He spoke. Alfred knew the pain. "It hurts a lot. But I still love him anyway."

Alfred knew he was being hypocritical; because he felt practically the same way that Arthur did, but he couldn't help but feel well, _angry._ How come Francis, and not him!?

"But _how!? How_ could you love Francis, after, after all he **did **and **does** to you!?" Alfred yelled, running his hand through his hair.

At that moment, though, Alfred wondered if instead of talking about Arthur, he had been talking about himself instead.

Arthur's eyes turned a bit shiny, and he frowned deeper, his thin and slim figure shaking as he stared at the floor.

_Is he. . .__**crying?**_ Alfred wondered, a bit shocked and worried.

"Alfred, you prat! I'm not talking about bloody Francis! I'm talking about you, you git!" Arthur yelled, his voice a bit hysterical.

A few tears streamed down his face as those green eyes pinned Alfred to his spot and the words completely shocked him.

Not soon after, Arthur's eyes widened to the verge where he looked comical, apparently only just realized what he had said.

_**When he looks at me, my heart races.**_

Alfred's own heart raced, faster than a dozen horses, faster than Italy driving.

_**He'll never change.**_

_So he wasn't talking about Francis and his flirting, but about me? _Alfred was still unmoving, rooted to the ground as his mind raced through the previous confessions.

_**But I still love him anyway.**_

And at that moment, Alfred swore his heart burst out of his chest and soared to the heavens.

A blush rose to his face, the sentence repeating in his mind as a warm, bubbly feeling expanded within him and butterflies danced in his stomach.

But just as he was about to reply, Arthur bolted, slamming the door open and running out.

Alfred's sentence died on his lips, and he simply stared as the chill air from the night snuck in and wrapped around him, before he realized that the only thing keeping him rooted to the spot is _himself. _

_And so he took after Arthur._

_Jumping over the coat stand and planting his hand firmly against the door to keep it from closing on him, Alfred raced out the door, his breath coming out in white swirling masses due to the chilly night air. _

_He ran all the way to the end of the block before he stopped, his glasses fogged and lopsided as his breath came out ragged and uneven. His head snapped around every way that Arthur could have ran off to, but he found no trace of the Englishman._

_Dropping his head to stare at the sidewalk and bracing his palms against his knees, he caught his breath as his mind was racing and his stomach doing flip flops._

_A few minutes passed by before his breath returned to normal, and he stood up straight, fixing Texas and staring straight ahead as if Arthur would magically appear like that magic the man so strongly believed in._

_Alfred turned around, and almost robotically, walked back to his house, dazed. He closed the door behind him, locking it, and returned to the couch, plopping down unceremoniously. He's silent, still staring ahead, eyes glazed over and muscles tense._

_And then he breaks._

_He cries - oh, how he cries - and his shoulders shake. His head is thrown back as laughter mixes with tears, the sound coming out broken yet renewed. _

_He lifts a hand up to place it over his eyes, the palm quickly becoming wet and the tears escaping from the slight blockade to run down his face, his chin, and drop onto his lap. _

_The tears stain it, making little dark circles in contrast of the original color. A sob escapes his lips and he shudders out a breath, his whole body shaking lightly. _

_As his body continues to be wracked with sobs and laughter, Alfred shakes his head, causing the tiny diamonds seeping from his eyes to fall and break everywhere._

_He's not sure whether he should be happy, or whether he should be sad._

_But damn it all, it's both. _


End file.
